


If Heavens Ever Did Speak

by cledritch



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: A little, Alternate Universe, Developing Relationship, Drabble, Light Angst, M/M, Religious Discussion, centers on markwin more than religion tho
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-29
Updated: 2018-05-29
Packaged: 2019-05-15 09:02:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14787509
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cledritch/pseuds/cledritch
Summary: But the weight of Sicheng’s hand in his gives him hope.





	If Heavens Ever Did Speak

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to @hqmarklee for the beta.

Even with just their hands touching, pinky against his own, Mark can feel the flutter of his heartbeat become rapid.

He cannot concentrate on what the pastor is saying. On any other Sunday mass, he’d commit the words to memory and revisit them in his prayers later. Any other day, he would be busy trying to catch up to his studies and attending the meetings where he can write down the daily verses and lessons the other members would share. But these memories bleed into nothing; an empty, white canvas as his mind is preoccupied with the simple contact.

The pastor asks for everyone to hold their hands up, the melody of Our Father filtering through the speakers as the choir begins singing. His mind reels at the gentle touch against his palm as his hand is held up.

Sicheng should be with the choir, harmonizing with Taeil mid-chorus. It’s routine, it’s an embarrassing quirk to remember, but Mark has always been drawn to Sicheng.

These feelings make his palms sweaty and he hopes that Sicheng wouldn’t comment on it.

He’s not afraid of approaching Sicheng. Far from it, really. He’s been a little infatuated with touching his ears this past month, especially the pointy, right ear. Sicheng doesn’t mind on a good day. It probably couldn’t be any worse than when Taeil would barrel down a hallway and onto Sicheng’s back for fun anyways. Sicheng doesn’t treat him any different from the other brothers and sisters, a mature figure who often starts the bible study sessions if the pastor was absent.

Sicheng is the kind of handsome that just sneaks up on people. He borders on pretty, full lips and deep eyes that hide the mystery within them. Some girls would get distracted when he’d play the piano for choir practice, sometimes missing a note when he would get himself too immersed in the music. There’s been talk of his father telling him to give fake numbers when agents scouted him on the streets, asking him to go to dance academy after his service training. Sicheng is too popular with the crowds that he was moved to choir from serving the host because people had no manners and tried to take host twice to get to talk to him. Disgraceful.

Mark really wonders how hard it must be for Sicheng when his father’s the pastor.

He’ seen Sicheng dance before. It’s nothing like how Taeyong from senior class popped and free-styled and it’s a long shot away from the classical hip-hop he’s seen on television. Sicheng called it Chinese traditional dance, flying through the air and landing with grace before he moved fluidly, arms curling as his fingers lightly touch his shoulders, tension on his wrist when he whips his arm away.

It was pretty, like a swan dancing on water. Mark was captivated.

He felt Sicheng hold his hand tighter before the song comes to a close and they put down their hands to their sides. Except he doesn’t let go, palm against his and fingers now slotted between his own.

Mark doesn’t mind and at this point, he really can’t think straight.

He squeezed his hand around Sicheng’s. It’s comforting and Mark doesn’t understand the thought at the back of his mind telling him to let go.

Let go of Sicheng’s hand, let go of these conflicting feelings that surface with Sicheng next to him.

In church, he’s taught about peace and acceptance with God’s creation. It’s not as intense as some people in the internet make it out to be: no raving about how homosexuals are a bane of existence (that was really rude, in his opinion) and that they should be religious robots knocking on every door asking people if they want to meet Jesus. But Mark understands that the concept of same-sex relationship is awkward with the church. Sicheng’s father is open-minded and didn’t mind when Sicheng’s openly gay friend Yuta came over or when Taeil seemed affectionate with his son to a point that wasn’t platonic anymore.

Mark knew about expectations, about the standards that he kept on his son’s behavior. He wouldn’t be ecstatic for Sicheng if he turned out to be gay. And Mark doubted Sicheng could be interested in anyone, male or female, at the moment.

But the weight of Sicheng’s hand in his gives him hope.

Mark has his own fears, his own little worries as to why he doesn’t entertain the thought he might like Sicheng. He’s going to be studying in Canada soon, leaving behind this little family he’s grown to like. He’s running out of time here. And Sicheng is a distant dream he needs to grow out of.

Yet here he is, listening to the final words of the mass, Sicheng leaning his head on his shoulder, his steady breathing in sync with Mark’s heartbeat. They’re sitting at the back pews, away from people and Mark knew no one can see them at this angle. Their knees brush, Sicheng moving closer till there’s no space left between them. His hair brushed against Mark’s cheek and he mumbles something against his neck.

“They told me you’re leaving soon,” he repeats, casually throwing the words as if they were talking about the weather. “Is it true?”

Mark nods stiffly “It’s just for a year. Familiarizing myself a little before I live there for good.” A lie. He’s enrolling in school there first thing, but Sicheng looks forlorn, and he wants to make it seem short. He needs to do a round of rosary later for the lies he’ll be sprouting.

Sicheng’s smile is a story unspoken, holding back whatever he’s thinking. His words sound carefully selected. “I hope it would treat you well.”

“That doesn’t make sense, hyung.” Mark chuckles, looking down at their hands and sees how Sicheng’s hand twitches.

He doesn’t answer immediately, listening to the choir sing the ending song for the mass, slipping his hand out of Mark’s and standing up.

This makes Mark freeze, a dull throb of pain stinging in his chest at the lack of contact. He tries his best to smile as Sicheng says with sad eyes, “I know.”

Mark nods again, standing up as well as people passed by. Some came to greet Sicheng, shaking his hand and kissing his cheek before they leave, giving their regards to his father.

“Hyung, I-“ Mark didn’t have the chance to finish what he was about to say when Sicheng stops him with a finger on his lips.

“You’re tied up and I would prefer that you speak the truth,” He moves away, hands clasped behind his back as he walks around the pew. Then he turns, eyes alight with surrender “I only seek the truth with you. Even if lightning strikes me.”

Mark wants to follow him as he blended into the crowd but Sicheng is gone from his sight and the piano music sounds almost melancholic now.

Mark lifts his hand, only now noticing the silver band of Sicheng’s promise ring on his palm.


End file.
